Tabula Rasa(17)

Ruso said, “I didn’t mean to start one.”

The old man gave a dramatic sigh. “It is the tragedy of these islands. Our tribes saw Rome coming and, instead of uniting, the leaders fell to quarreling amongst themselves.”

Ruso tried to form a facial expression that showed he was paying attention. He felt slightly detached from what was going on, but he was not drunk enough to offer opinions on the Britons.

“So now,” Senecio said, “your people and ours must live side by side until Rome decides to go away again.”

“Yes.” The old man must have been disappointed when the building started; it was clearer than ever now that his people were in for a long wait.

Senecio said, “There should be no more killing.”

“I agree.” Ruso raised his beer cup in approval, but the old man had not finished.

“Marriages between our women and your men are not always successful.”

Not sure how this was connected with killing, Ruso said, “My wife and I have known each other a long time.” He was still just about sober enough to censor whereas you only met her last week.

Senecio raised his own cup. “Mara’s daughter has made her choice. Until your people leave our land, healer, we will look for ways to live together.”

Ruso drank, relieved that he was safe here but hoping the old man did not imagine he was talking to someone with any power to agree to anything. Even the blankets and buckets that he had made the absent Candidus order had failed to turn up. He realized now how unimportant that was. The Legion seemed a long way away and curiously irrelevant. He could not remember why the emperor had bothered coming here in the first place. He understood completely why the Britons were baffled and irritated by the army’s interference. They should all stop quarreling. It was all remarkably simple. There was no need for fighting. They should respect each other. If they all gathered together around warm hearths to share peace and beer, there would be no need for a wall.

As the murmur of conversation rose around him again, Tilla said, “You did well. He likes you.”

“Good.” He wondered how long it would be before he could eat comfortably again.

She scooped up a spoonful and drew back as it touched her lips. “Ach! This is still hot! Is this why you spilled the drink?”

He said, “I didn’t want to spit it out.”

“They would have thought you were rude,” she agreed. “Now they just think you are a man who is desperate for beer.”





Chapter 7

The meal had ended. People were moving about the house: men going out to fetch firewood and check the animals; women throwing down bedrolls in the shadows beyond the partitions and urging children to have one last drink, one last wee, and be sure to wash dirty hands and feet. At last Virana had the chance to get up and help, and had come back with the news that these people knew Cata, who was lucky her jaw was not broken, and that another girl had run away some time ago and nobody knew where she had gone.

“That is what happens when you choose the wrong man,” Tilla told her. From behind one of the partitions she could hear the repeated whuf of someone punching a feather pillow into shape. The evening had gone better than she had feared. Her husband was on the far side of the fire listening to Senecio with the slightly cross look on his face that meant he was tired and having to concentrate to understand.

Then Senecio was beckoning her over to join them, and that was when she spotted the Thing for the first time, and forgot all about long-suffering girlfriends.

“I have been speaking with your man,” Senecio told her.

“I am glad of it.” Tilla tried to not to stare at the Thing. It was stark and obvious now that it had slipped outside the cream wool of her husband’s best tunic.

“He tells me you have not had your marriage blessed after the custom of our people.”

“We were married in Gaul,” she explained. Perhaps the old man’s sky-blue eyes were dim. Perhaps he would think it was a bird. Then she remembered that he had recognized her across a crowded market.

“And so far,” he was saying, “you have no children.”

“There is plenty of time,” put in her husband. As if either of them believed that time would make a difference.

She caught his eye and glanced down at the Thing, then back up again. A faint expression of puzzlement flitted across his face, but Senecio was speaking again and he turned back to pay attention.

“I have been thinking,” Senecio continued, “that as an old friend of your mother and one who can remember your family, it would be a duty and an honor to offer that blessing.”

Her husband took her hand and bowed. The wretched Thing dangled forward as if it were in flight, then landed back against his chest. “We are the ones who are honored, sir. Thank you.”